


My Love, Don't Leave Me

by firecracker189



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But then so does clint, F/M, Flashbacks, Natasha needs a strong love, PTSD nightmares, This is purely an excuse for me to write clintasha, clint is in looooveeeee, don't read if you're triggered by that kinda stuff, it talks about breaking someone's neck, like seriously he's smitteN, natasha has a nightmare about the red room, sorta smut i guess, tasha flashes back to killing someone, they both have shitty pasts, trigger warning for death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 03:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firecracker189/pseuds/firecracker189
Summary: Natasha needs someone around to catch her when she falls. Clint fits the bill, and always has.





	My Love, Don't Leave Me

**Author's Note:**

> Should be working on The Ache Inside, but here's this because I wasn't ready to put down the Clintasha just yet. I'm crying because I wrote this to May It Be cover version by 2Cellos, and it makes this entire thing more romantic and beautiful.

Panting. Heart pounding. Sweat dripping down cold skin. Impact of joint on joint. Yelling. Pain.

Natalia cried out as she hit the ground once more, concrete impacting her harshly and drawing more blood, adding to the pattern of blue and black bruising dotting her skin. Growling, she sprang up once more and attacked all the more harshly, clawing and pulling at her opponent’s hair as the other girl sputtered and struggled. Blood ran down Natalia’s face into her eye, stinging, but she didn’t care. Food. Food was promised, and she was starving. She had to win. To take out her opponent. The frigidness of the Russian winter did nothing to distract the girls within the ring, they fought on. Eventually, Natalia was able to grip the forearm of her opponent and bring it around, sinking her teeth in until the girl bled and cried out; from there she made quick work of it. The clean snap echoed through the cold concrete compound, the impassiveness of the faces of the young girls surrounding the spectacle perhaps more harrowing than the act itself. A few snowflakes fell. All was silent save for the soft sound of boots against cement. Natalia stood at attention, skinny frame taught with anticipation as the stern looking but beautiful woman stopped before the victor.

“Molodtsy, Natal'ya.”

 

Gasping, Natasha clawed at the sheets holding her back, sitting bolt upright. Her hands shook as she looked around the room with wide eyes, a haunted look gracing her features as sweat dried on her skin. The words rang in her ears as if they had been spoken moments ago, chilling her insides. Her chest heaved as her breathing attempted to regulate itself, and she felt a warm presence beside her. A hand touched her shoulder and she sprang backwards, launching herself off the mattress and executing a perfect backflip, coming up with a knife in hand and a feral snarl on her lips.

“Da otvali ty ot menya!” She cried, the barest quaver detectable in her tones.

“Easy, Natasha,” Clint murmured, rising to his full height and holding his hands up, empty. “Easy. I’m not going to hurt you.” When she didn’t back off, he chose a different tack. He couldn’t regulate his volume very well without his hearing aids, and he didn’t dare move to grab them with her like this.

_Do you know me?_ He signed, keeping his expression open. _Do you remember how to sign?_

Her teeth clenched together further, and she backed away further, knife still present and accounted for. Clint cursed softly.

“Vse v poryadke,” he murmured. “Eto ya. Eto Clint.” Clint wheedled, chancing a small step forward.

Natasha’s brow furrowed. Her mind was clouded, body overloaded with self preservation and terror, but… that name. It sounded familiar. Like… home and soft and warm. “Clint?” she asked softly, cocking her head. Her accent was thick, and his name sounded out of place on her tongue.

“Clint.” He repeated. “Your partner. We work for SHIELD together. You and I live together in Avengers Tower. You know me, malen'kiy pauk, come on.” He coaxed, watching as the nickname triggered some sort of light in her eyes.

The knife clattered to the floor, and her knees gave out. Clint was at her side in a moment, curling her onto his lap and holding her tightly. “M-moy yastreb,” she gasped, gripping at his shirt like an anchor as she pressed up against him, burying her face in his collarbone and taking in his scent.

Clint buried his face in her hair and held her close, heart beating fast as he just clung to her and attempted to ground her, going through their usual routine. He had his routine after bad dreams, and she had hers, but one thing was for sure: if either of them weren’t around they would fare the worse for it. They complimented each other. “Moy pauk.” He responded in a rough whisper. He could feel the barest quivers as they wracked her frame, and he slid his hand beneath her tee to rub her back. “I’m right here.” He murmured.

Natasha clung to him for several moments, shaking and reminding herself that things were different now, before she chanced moving. Uncurling, she took his hands in hers and kissed both of them, squeezing them tightly. “I can still hear them.” She whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I can hear all of them. Like it was yesterday, Clint. I can still remember what it felt like… what it _sounded_ like to…” she broke off and shook her head.

“Hey,” he whispered, reaching up to thumb the tears away as they kept coming. “Hey, no. No. You aren’t there anymore, Nat. You’re one of the good guys now. Believe me, I know how that feels, to feel like you’ll never get clean hands. To think that everyone will always hold that list of names against you, or use it to control you. But we’re here now, and we’re together, and nobody’s ever going to separate us again.” He bent slightly to look into her troubled eyes. “Natalia Alianova Romanova, you are the single most wonderful thing to ever happen to me, and I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone take you away from me.” His hand went to her hair, twining into silken strands of red. “I love you,” his voice was rough as he pressed their foreheads together.

Natasha felt a soft whimper leave her lips, more tears following the ones he’d wiped away as she listened to his words. “I love you,” she replied, and kissed him.

Clint cupped her head and kissed her back just as desperately, letting her crawl further into his lap to press up against him as closely as possible. Pushing a strand of hair from her face, the two broke apart to stare into one another’s eyes, drinking in the sight of each other before Clint raised a calloused hand to push at her shirt questioningly.

Natasha leaned back and reached down, divesting herself of her top in a swift movement before leaning down to kiss him again. Clint’s hands returned to her body, this time roving the smooth but slightly scarred expanse of her back, trailing across her rips with rough hands to cup her breasts as she tugged him closer. “Natalia,” he rasped, as he pulled back and allowed her to remove his own shirt. “Klinton,” she murmured huskily, using as she only rarely did, his full name.

Her accent drove him wild, and he slid his hands to her hips, gently pushing the material down her thighs until she was kneeling above him, looking like a marble carving in her beauty. She gave a little impatient hum and tossed her sweatpants aside, tugging at his own sweats. Rising up onto his hands and feet, he tilted so she could strip him the rest of the way, humming eagerly as she was immediately back in his arms as soon as his clothes had been tossed away. Wrapping his arms around her, he braced his hands against her shoulder-blades and kissed her soundly, pressing up against her. Her breasts flattened against his chest as he arched into her hands as the roamed his torso, crossing tight lines of defined musculature as he tilted his head and left a string of kisses across the curve of her shoulder and neck. Tenderly, he tilted up to claim her lips again, as the two began a perfectly choreographed expression of their love.

Reaching up, Clint tugged the duvet from the bed and draped it over their bodies, purring as Natasha nuzzled into his shoulder. She draped an arm over his body and kissed his chest softly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “for always being there, to make me sane again.” He traced a lazy finger over her side, and smiled an absolutely smitten smile.

_Always._ He signed back, and kissed her. _Though, I may actually have a little bit of carpet burn on my ass now._

She laughed and smacked his chest, before cuddling closer. _Maybe tomorrow, I will kiss it better._ Natasha signed with a sleepy smile. He kissed her head.

_Get some sleep. I’ll be here to keep the dreams away._

The next time Natasha closed her eyes, she dreamed of warm sunlight and rough laughter and a steady smile. No more bad dreams came that night.

 

 


End file.
